Sin District Slayer
by gatechic
Summary: Just a few annuals on the force, Tin Man Wyatt Cain becomes the next target of Sin District’s newest serial killer.


Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. The OCs are mine. No copyright infringement is intended and I'm not making a penny off of this.

___ Prologue_

"How many is this now?"

"Five."

"And just like the others: young male, blond, heart cut out…certainly is the work of our killer," the first detective said, kneeling close to the bloodied remains of the fifth victim. He sighed looking over at a portion of the rib cage that was removed for easy access to the victim's heart.

"Someone hates young-male blonds," the second detective added, looking over at the officer doing crowd control at the edge of the crime scene. "Maybe blond males should evacuate Sin District," he said as a comment, noticing the officer had blond hair.

The older detective followed his partner's line of vision. The blond officer looked over his shoulder towards them for a moment before turning his attention back to the gathering vultures – onlookers. "Maybe they should just leave the city," he said, quickly returning to his notes on case #347564.

~*~

Later that evening, just as Cain's shift was about to end, he responded to a call about two women fighting. He and his partner, Derek Beohouf, arrived to see the two women in the midst of their fight. With the help of two other officers, they were able to pry the two women apart to the jeers of the spectators. Cain pushed through the crowd and escorted the woman towards a patrol car. He positioned her between him and the patrol car with her hands over her head. He held on to her thumbs with one hand as he searched her with the other.

"Have any weapons or needles on you, ma'am?" Cain asked, not wanting to poke his fingers on something sharp.

"No, but you certainly do," she answered with a seductive-drunken slurring of her words while pressing her backside against Cain's groin.

"Ah, no, don't do that," Cain said, pulling himself away from her while trying to finish his search.

"Oh honey, please, do me!" She wiggled her hips some more.

Derek heard the comment, turned his attention to his partner, and then laughed at Cain's predicament. "Lucky son of a bitch," he said with a smile. He'll give Cain a few more moments – alone – before offering any help.

"Ma'am, please don't do that and stay still," commanded Cain, slightly annoyed. He didn't find any weapons on her, but a female officer at the jailhouse would do a complete search. He needed to get the cuffs on her. "Hands behind your back," he commanded sternly as he started to reposition her arms. She had her chance now and while Cain reached behind his belt to retrieve his cuffs, she grabbed him.

"Oh yeah!" she sang.

A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Cain not only felt her grab him, but the roar of the crowd filled his ears and the blood rushed to his face. Derek decided it was time to help his partner.

"Looks like you got yourself a wild one there, Cain. Need help?"

___'__What the fuck took you so long?____'_ Cain didn't have to say what he was thinking, it showed on his face as he desperately tried to avoid contact with the groping-hands of his suspect.

The two Tin Men wrestled with the prostitute to get the cuffs on her while she continued to make obscene comments and gestures. They finally got her in the patrol car and slammed the door shut, but they could still hear her and felt the car bounce with her movements. Cain and Derek leaned up against it to catch their breath. "I wonder if her mother knows she talks like that?" Derek questioned, sneaking a peek over his shoulder as the suspect spread her legs and then ran her tongue over her lips. He snorted.

"Must be one of DeMilo's girls," Cain said staring into the crowd searching for said man. He knew that DeMilo never strayed too far from his girls. This part of Sin District Square was his territory and the last thing he wanted, was any of his 'competitors' encroaching on his turf.

One of the other officers came up to them and leaned towards them to whisper, "Did I hear her say that she wanted one of you to fuck her as she sucked the other off?"

Cain and Beohouf both nodded.

"It's going to be one hell of a report to fill out," the other officer commented before walking away.

"Drunken prostitutes fighting over a customer is not my idea on how to end my shift," Beohouf said, slapping Cain on his shoulder. "C'mon, let's find out what triggered the brawl between these street-fighting whores."

He moved quietly and unnoticed in the back of the crowd. Of course, it was easy since he blended in perfectly with the other men standing around gawking, after all, there was nothing like watching two whores fight it out. However, his reason for watching was different. He was hunting. Having seen enough, he turned around, and walked home.

~*~

Lately, he kept his apartment dark, it wasn't because he couldn't afford the electrical bill, but because he didn't want to see. All around his apartment was broken glass from picture frames, wine glasses to mark anniversaries, vases that once contained a wide variety of Ozian flora, mirrors, and anything else that shattered on impact. Images of his past lay scattered around the floor as if a windstorm sucked up his life, twisted it, and then spit it out randomly.

He brought out the brown case with his initials decoratively embossed in silver lettering in the center. It had been a gift from his wife when he graduated a long time ago. His fingers ran over the lettering, feeling the texture, the lettering turning cold under his touch. He had become cold, incapable of feeling any warmth – except for blood.

The blood made his cold-hands warm, enabling tactile function to return in his hands again – even if it was fleeting.

He needed one more and then he was done. One for each annual they spent together before-

He opened the box and his heart pounded hard against his ribs as if it wanted to break free from its prison deep inside his chest, his ribs acting like bars to keep it inside. The sound of his heart beating fast reverberated in his ears blocking out the voices in his head, except for one.

_"Time to choose."_

The knives glistened in the darkness as if they had a life of their own.

"Which one?" he asked the voice, looking at his assortment of sharp instruments. In his mind's eye, one glistened more than the others did, as if answering his question. He smiled. Lifting the knife in front of his eyes, he moved his thumb across the blade, cutting him. He had seen enough blood on his knives that it was easy for him to imagine the thin line of blood trickling down the blade.

He found annual six.

And it would be his best annual yet.

A Tin Man.


End file.
